


Real Enough

by Comedia



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comedia/pseuds/Comedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can you possibly feel real when your face looks like a carved pumpkin gone wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t play as a renegade Shep, but dammit, I love those scars and I stare at them way too long whenever someone uploads a picture. My scar obsession eventually turned into kind of angsty words.

They never bring it up. He suspects it’s because they don’t want to upset him, although he prefers to think it’s because they don’t care. But he’d care. If one of his friends showed up looking like someone had put their face in a blender - with scars that glow on top of that – he’d care. He’d even be polite enough to ask about it.

“What’s wrong with your face?”

Hell, he’d bring it up every time they met. Actually, that’s exactly what he does with Garrus, yet Garrus never mentions Shepard’s scars in return. It’s weird, like some kind of unspoken rule.

Since no one else asks the question he does, every morning. Looking into the mirror, eyes glowing red and scars resembling the ground of Therum, he keeps asking the hard questions.

“What the fuck is wrong with your face?”

“Damn man, even the vessels in your eyes are glowing. Wicked.”

“What did Cerberus put in your body?”

“Shouldn’t you talk to Chakwas about this?”

“Are you even real?”

He’s Commander Goddamn Shepard. The galaxy seems to think of him as the representative of the human race. Humanity seems to think of him as a savior. How is he supposed to be all of that when he’s not even human anymore?

It’s all about being able to look yourself in the eye, isn’t it? When you’ve had to make the decisions no one else will, when you’re the reason your ally – your friend – is dead, you’re supposed to be able to do that. You’re supposed to look into the mirror and tell yourself “it was the right thing to do”. But how can you possibly do that when something so alien is staring back?

While he was stationed on Earth a soldier commented on it. Once. The man was terribly drunk and stared at him for a long time.

“That must be real practical.”

He’d raised an eyebrow and the young man hadn’t been intimidated at all. He must’ve been drunk of his ass. “Practical?”

“Yeah, yu… see, it’s a great nightlight, right? And it’s like, on your face. So you’ll never ever lose it.” The soldier had leaned against the wall, struggling to stay upright. “And you’ll never have to buy pumpkins for Halloween eath… either. You just put your head there, and it’s all done.”

There was no way to reply that didn’t involve causing the man serious pain, so he’d just walked away.

“Honor to meet you, sir!” the soldier had called after him. All he got in return was a middle finger.

Yeah, being locked up hadn’t been so bad actually. After that encounter the tiny room seemed quite pleasant. It was much better watching humanity from afar than interacting with it. Besides, anyone glancing up at him from the ground probably saw just another guy in Alliances blues; no risk of them catching the red glow from such a distance. For a while he had the illusion of being human once again.

But in the end it was all about provoking people to mention it simply because they all seemed so damn set on avoiding the subject. Asking Vega if Loco was fitting after all; now that he knew the crew, shouldn’t he consider having Vakarian and Shepard switch nicknames? Complimenting Garrus’ gorgeous face, trying to trick EDI into asking about it…

He always thought that’s what he wanted them to say. To finally question his humanity and tell him, straight to his face, how goddamn awful he looked. How the scars truly reflected his messed up choices. He needed someone close to him to point it out, to confirm that yeah, he’s losing touch alright.

But at the Cerberus Base something changes. Kaidan’s voice is soft, like a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“You’re real enough for me.”

Picking up the pieces and rebuilding him from the ground; it’s something he can believe in. It’s all he ever needed to hear.


End file.
